


Pass Through Me

by cajous



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Fluff, Happy times, M/M, everyone is a ghost lmao, fun times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 09:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cajous/pseuds/cajous
Summary: "I’ll give you the ride of your life.”When Minho died, he didn't expect to live again.





	Pass Through Me

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for clicking on this story!! kinda nervous about posting since it's my first in this fandom lmao. i originally intended for this to be short and quick but i got carried away accidentally created a universe. constructive criticism is most welcomed :)

When Minho woke up, he didn’t expect to be standing next to his unconscious body. 

He had just been coming back from an outing with Chanwoo to the shopping mall, blasting out Brave Girls from their archaic radio and singing at the top of their lungs while stopped at an intersection. The light had turned green and Chanwoo pulled the car forward. Out his peripherals, he saw a semi-truck going unusually fast, barreling towards their pathetic 2004 Toyota Corolla. 

“Hey, watch it!”

He blacked out. 

Now Minho towered over himself and upon examining his face, he deduced that he truly looked miserable. The Minho on the bed was gauntly pale, cuts and bruises littered his arms, legs, and face and he had multiple IVs going into his body. 

“What the hell?” Minho whispered to himself. Was he having a fever dream? Unknowingly astral projecting from the bed? The sudden opening of the door followed by the sounds of hushed cries and whispered words of comfort stopped his thought process. He turned from Minho on the bed and faced the entrance, choking on his shock. 

“My baby,” Minho’s mom gasped, running to the bedside and stroking his hair. Her forehead was pressed against his, silently sobbing her grief. 

“Mom?” Minho croaked out, his voice suddenly failing. He watched his dad cross the room, the doctor standing by the door to give the Lee family personal time. His dad tucked an arm around his mom’s shoulder and grabbed the scarred hand of Minho, pressing it to his trembling lips. Tears leaked out of his eyes. Minho has never seen his dad cry. 

Minho reached out to soothe the quivering hand of his mother running through his hair. She had always been delicate. “This isn’t funny guys, I’m right here.” 

His hand phased through his mother’s. 

Minho stumbled back in shock, eyes widening and a visceral fear settling in his gut. Not only did his hand manage to pass through his mother’s, but it was free from any wounds, clear and pristine unlike the Minho on the bed. His brain belatedly added the note that his whole arm was alarmingly slightly semi-transparent. He whipped his body to the door once again, seeing Chanwoo and his parents standing with the doctor. 

“Chanwoo, oh my God, you have to help me,” Minho took long strides to his longtime best friend, attempting to grasp his shoulders. Instead of clutching the comforting weight of Chanwoo, he was met with air and his steps faltered, tripping over himself and through the entire body of his best friend. Minho half-expected Chanwoo to catch his flailing body before it plummeted to the ground, but wasn’t that a silly thought? He hit the hospital floor. 

“Mr and Mrs Lee, would you like more time with your son?” the doctor finally spoke up. 

“Give us time to say goodbye, please,” Minho’s dad murmured. Minho scrambled up from the ground. If this was real, he was sure as hell going to hear what his parents had to say to him for the last time. Minho watched his parents lean over Minho on the bed, kissing his cut up face and whispering their love before reluctantly pulling back. 

The doctor bowed her head. “I’ll be waiting inside my office.” She turned and walked away, Chanwoo’s parents too. Minho watched as his parents began to follow, his mom still crying and his dad with a hardened face. 

“Don’t cry, mom,” Minho gasped out, keeping back tears himself. “Dad, I’m sorry.” 

They left the room, his mom throwing looking back one more time before disappearing down the hallway. Chanwoo stood in the doorframe, fists clenched at his side and face scrunched up, tear tracks obviously running down his tan face as he looked at Minho on the bed. 

Minho knew his best friend more than he knew himself. “Don’t blame yourself Chanwoo.” Minho reached for Chanwoo’s hand. Although knowing full well that he would phase right through, Minho hoped that Chanwoo could feel his presence. But like everyone else, Chanwoo turned and made the trek to the doctor’s office. 

Minho shot one last look towards Minho on the bed. “You caused a lot of trouble, dude.” 

He didn’t want to hang around anymore. Minho left the room, only to be shocked into disbelief once again. The hospital halls were milling with semi-transparent bodies, wandering around aimlessly and seemingly without a purpose. Young children, people his age, and the elderly; it really was a disturbing sight to see. Minho shook himself out of his confusion, steeling his nerves and headed for the outside with one goal. 

*

“I’m home.” 

Those words were spoken out of habit. The only anomaly was that Minho didn’t have to open the front door, but instead phasing right through it. He could get used to that. 

Minho heard pattering steps towards his direction. “Doongie?” 

The feline appeared around the corner but froze still, tail perking up and muscles tensing in suspicion. Minho kneeled down and Doongie started to stalk towards his position before meowing ferociously and walking right through him, Minho jumping a bit but continued to watch his cat circle around him. Soon, Soonie and Dori were with their sibling, performing the same action of inspection. Much to his relief, their defensive attitude dropped as they began trying to rub against him, however magnificently failing to do so. 

“You still know it’s me, huh?” Minho whimpered out, using a shaky hand to glide over the figure of his Dori. By some miraculous reason, Dori attempted to nuzzle up into his palm as if sensing and actually feeling his signature. He didn’t realize he was crying until a sob forced its way up to his throat and Minho let out the most God-awful sound. Those horror movies about paranormal-activity sensing cats were true to some degree. 

“You guys better be good to mom and dad, at least better than me. You’re the only children they have left.” 

Minho pressed a ghostly kiss to the heads of each cat before standing up, albeit reluctantly. His cats meowed in protest, comedically trying to stop him from leaving by guarding the door. 

Minho let out a wet chuckle. “Idiots, I’ll just walk through.” 

And he did. 

What the hell was he supposed to do now? 

While running to his house after waking up in the hospital, he couldn’t process his surroundings coherently, too caught up in his racing thoughts and the consequences of not being in the same plane of existence of everyone else. Now that Minho was fully capable, his new reality gave him a very rude awakening. It was normal for people to be milling in the streets on a warm evening. What wasn’t normal were the ghostly beings that mixed in, wearing a mix of clothes from different eras of time like a soldier’s uniform or what a cheonmin would wear, according to Minho’s historical knowledge. The cheonmin probably spoke in a different type of Korean than Minho, so he decided to approach soldier. 

“Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me?” Minho asked, not knowing what he was asking help for. 

The soldier walked past him, a blank look on his face and his head unnaturally stiff and unmoving. Minho watched the soldier’s back grow further with annoyance. Soldier or not, that was uncalled for. 

Minho wandered further down the street lined with small shops and street food, finding another figure around his age and time era to heckle. “Hey, do you know what’s going?” 

No answer. Frustration began to line Minho’s vision along with an unsettling dread in his stomach. All the figures were apparently robots incapable of human interaction so he was truly stuck and alone, unable to communicate with anyone, even with his own “kind”. He couldn’t share his thoughts with anyone and he couldn’t touch anyone. Being unable to pet his cats was painful and the thought of never hugging his parents again made him want to throw up. Minho couldn’t perform and have fun with his dance team in university and he probably couldn’t eat his favourite foods anymore. What even were the laws of physics in this plane of existence? 

“Most of them can’t talk back, y’know.” 

Minho turned around to find a boy his age strolling towards him. He was in somewhat modern looking clothes with baggy black pants and an oversized, white t-shirt, but his haircut screamed old-school. The terrible middle part with his long, black hair did not do his otherwise cute face any justice. At least the gold rings dangling from his ears were passable. 

“I’m beginning to realize that,” Minho retorted, still frustrated at his predicament. 

The boy smiled. “Need some help?” 

Needless to say, Minho found himself with Han Jisung, a boy too free-spirited (literally) for his own good. They had met for at least two minutes and he had already dropped honorifics. And Jisung had wanted to catch the sunset at Han River, so as such, he was dragged along with his antics. 

“So, how did you die?” Jisung asked a bit too casually for a normal conversation. 

Minho supposed this was the new culture he had to get used to. “A car crash, I think. A semi-truck drove into my side of the car. I died in the hospital close to here.” 

“Oh, that’s a bummer man. I’m sorry,” Jisung replied, face drawing in to show his empathy. 

“How about you?” 

“I was murdered.”

Minho spluttered. Now that was offhand. “Oh God, I’m so sorry to hear that.” 

“It’s casual, man,” Jisung laughed. “That was back in ‘82 if I remember. It’s, like, what? 2019 now? My math isn’t good, but it’s obviously been a while.” 

Minho smiled weakly, drained from the amount of energy that Jisung exuded with his strong personality. Jisung’s slang was amusing, though. “1982, huh? I don’t think murder was very common. It still isn’t.” 

Jisung dropped his head. “Nah, I wouldn’t think so. But being gay wasn’t chill at all. I told a friend and he ratted me out to the whole school which was definitely not cool.” 

“Not cool.” Minho agreed, looking at Jisung and seeing their parallels. “If it helps, the world has been becoming more liberal, but South Korea still needs to catch up a bit. I’m gay and I know a lot close family and friends support me.”

“That’s awesome, dude. I’m super glad to hear that,” Jisung grinned. “Anyways, you’re fresh blood right? Recent?” Minho hummed in affirmation. 

“Which year were you born in?” Jisung questioned. 

“1998.”

Jisung’s grin stretched so wide Minho was sure it was going to fly off his face. “1964 right here. So, technically, that makes me your hyung. But we will honour the physics of our forefathers and address age as relative to our physical bodies.” 

Minho stared incredulously. Where did that spiel come from? “Alright.” 

They reached the Han River. Everything was the same as the day before when he came down with Chanwoo for some relaxation, ordering chicken and gossiping about the drama in their dance team and university. Thinking of Chanwoo stifled his chest. 

“Oh! Here’s something fun that I like to do with you fresh blood,” Jisung exclaimed as he made himself comfortable on the grass, the sky slowly changing shades and colouring Jisung’s cherub-like face. Minho sat beside him. “Touch your neck and feel your pulse.” 

Jisung held two fingers to his pulse point and Minho copied his action on his own neck. Minho’s eyes widened with shock and his pupils started to dart around. He didn’t have a heartbeat. “My pulse!” 

“Hyung, you’re dead, remember?” Jisung cackled. “Heads up, you’re aware of your own breathing now, or, I guess, aware that you aren’t now.” 

Minho froze, coming to the realization that he, in fact, was not breathing. The only time he took a breath was to speak to Jisung but when he wasn’t talking, his chest didn’t rise up and down. He lifted his hands to his chest, looking at the boy for the help he couldn’t provide. 

“For some reason, fresh blood can’t understand that they’re dead,” Jisung mused, leaning back onto his elbows and watched the bewilderment and fear mix on Minho’s face. “They expect their bodies to continue working, even when we’re ghosts. Crazy, right?” 

Minho blinked at the boy next to him unimpressively. “So that’s what we are, then? Ghosts? Like the ones we see in movies?” 

“Yup.” 

“Then why can you talk? Why can I talk? Everyone else couldn’t talk. It’s like they’re mindless.” 

Jisung sat up and stretched, cracking the bones in his neck and twisting his back. Minho looked on with confusion. “I guess it’s time for the talk. Hyung, are you ready to get educated about ghost theory?” 

“Go ahead, be my guest,” Minho dryly quipped. 

“You tried to talk to some earlier, right? They’re there, but they’re trapped, y’know. Like, there’s someone upstairs, but they’re locked inside their own body. They’re conscious, they can see and hear, but that’s it.” 

Minho’s jaw dropped, horrified. “They’re trapped in their own bodies?” 

“Right on.” 

“So the soldier I talked to before…?” 

Jisung nodded. “He’s probably been trapped for a long time. Hopefully, he was in the Korean war and not when Korea was occupied.” 

“Holy shit,” Minho whispered. “That’s really disturbing.” He thought back to the man in the cheonmin attire. The man was from the Goryeo or Joseon era of Korea. It made his stomach lurch. 

There was a lull in the conversation. Cicadas buzzed in the background in tune with the chatter of hundreds of people and the screams of delight from children. Kites were flown in the air and the smell of fast food drifted in the air. Ships lazily drifted on the Han River that was slowly reflecting the sunset’s colours. People were taking long walks along the path, many exercising, riding bikes or just on dates with their loved one. It was annoyingly mundane considering two ghosts sat right in the middle of the organized chaos. 

“Everyone you see, including us, didn’t cross over when they died.” 

Minho lifted his head to look at Jisung. “What do you mean?” 

Jisung picked at the grass beside him. “It means that for some reason, we didn’t go where we were supposed to go after we died. And don’t ask me where or what we’re supposed to go to, that’s on what you believe in.” 

“I don’t suppose you can ask someone who’s crossed over, then,” Minho drawled, Jisung humming in agreement. “What makes us special? Who fucked up and didn’t have us cross over?” 

Jisung perked up. “Okay, I have a new analogy for this.” 

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Shoot.” 

“Y’know when Thanos snapped in Infinity War, right? He killed 50% of the population and everyone became dust? By the way, movies have become so dope since my time. What’s it called, CGI or something? Anyways, it meant that you had a 50% chance of surviving, you hear me?” 

“I hear you,” Minho replied, holding back a giggle at the 180 turn of the mood of their conversation. 

Jisung’s eyes were wide, gesticulating wildly into the air. “It’s the same for us, but the chance of not crossing over is lower, way lower, for us. And it isn’t Thanos pulling the strings.”

“So, who represents Thanos then?” Minho smiled as he gazed at Jisung’s shenanigans. 

“We don’t know! I said it before, hyung, it depends on your belief I guess. I would love some answers, though.” 

“So something really went wrong with us,” Minho deducted. 

“Totally. The chance for someone not crossing over was low, but the chance of us not being trapped in our bodies is extremely small.” 

Minho sighed and dropped his head. “We got the short end of the stick, didn’t we?” 

“What does that mean?” Jisung frowned, almost looking offended. 

“Just think about it. We’re stuck in limbo forever. We don’t have anyone or anything to go back to and we can’t move forward to wherever we were supposed to go to. We’re stuck.”

Jisung blinked, staring at Minho in pure disbelief. “You are so stunned.”

“Excuse me?” Minho didn’t know what that meant, but he assumed it had insulting connotations to it. 

“Hyung, no offence, but that’s a really dim way to look at things. This whole thing definitely isn’t the short end. I don’t know what happened and what went wrong, but don’t you think this is a chance for a renewal? We got a second chance to live again, what’s wrong with that?”

“It’s not living if you lost a few of your senses,” Minho argued. “I left all my cats and my family and friends behind. It’s wrong to live on if they’re suffering from my death!” 

“Wouldn’t they want you to be happy, though?” 

Minho stilled and paused for a moment. He spoke after a few heartbeats, “Probably.”

“They know that you would want them to be happy too. That’s what is called ‘moving on’ from the past.”

Screw Jisung for being so rational. 

Jisung shuffled closer to Minho. “And we can’t eat things, so we really can’t taste anything anymore. But hold still for a moment.” 

Minho watched Jisung reach his hand out to Minho’s arm with anticipation. A firm pressure appeared on his forearm as Minho watched the material of his sweater shift under Jisung’s ghostly hand, a sort of coolness seeping through the sleeve and onto his skin. Minho jumped in shock at the cold but gaped with fascination. “How did you do that?” 

Jisung retrieved his hand with a smirk. “If you focus enough, you can touch like you did before. And we’re not alone, y’know? I have a bunch of friends to go back to and we usually meet up around this time of year to hang out. That’s why I’m in Korea right now.” 

“Where are you for the rest of the year, then?”

“Exploring the world. I’ve been everywhere, hyung, so you’ll have to be more specific with that,” Jisung grinned. He stood up, stretching his arms out and groaning. “Anyways, I promised to guys to get to our place tonight. Wanna come?” 

Minho didn’t need to consider his options. “Sure.” 

Jisung abruptly grabbed Minho by the wrist and dragged him upwards from his sitting position. He really had to get use to the shockingly cool sensation that came along with the younger touching him. 

Jisung smiled at him. “C’mon. After meeting my buddies, I’ll give you the ride of your life.” 

And what was there left to lose?

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! let me know your thoughts in the commentss
> 
> here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/skimminh) if you wanna have a chat :))


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